


women are deadly (i tried to warn you)

by thedragonbane (orphan_account)



Series: nobody is happy (you'd be a fool to think differently) [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Complete, F/M, Joffrey lives, Not Beta Read, Original Character(s), POV Sansa, Sadness, Very dramatic omg, a couple weddings. probably, au - nobody is happy (you'd be a fool to think differently), au - sansa married joffrey, draaaaama, loads of betrothals, ~~Canonical Character Death~~
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-11-08 07:15:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11076645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/thedragonbane
Summary: Sansa has been wed to Joffrey for almost twenty years, sometimes she thinks it gets easier, sometimes she knows it never will.A continuation ofin my veins there is pain (it isn't blood that flows through me anymore)where her children are grown, the queen mother is being herself and people are still dying.





	1. what game are you playing?

It was Joffrey's thirty-fifth nameday and so the whole Kingdom was coming to the capital to celebrate. Her husband was as handsome as ever, his golden hair still shone like the sun and his eyes were like shiny emeralds. He was just as strong and skilled. Age had the opposite effect of him than it did on most - it made him more handsome. And he was still a monster. Though oddly, not so fierce now that Lord Tywin had died.

(Three years ago now, Sansa still thought he would wake up again.)

Sansa had been queen for eighteen long years, she was the same age her mother was when she died - wasn't that a thought? She felt so old. Her eldest son was already wed with a wife heavy with child, Joanna, Steffon and Jocelyn were both betrothed and Gerold was growing up almost too fast, he would be leaving to be a squire soon.

When she was told that all of the Lord Paramounts would be coming to King's Landing she didn't think much of it. Well, she did think about the fact that she'd meet her cousin for he first time, Robert Arryn was now Lord of the Vale. Aunt Lysa had died without Sansa ever meeting her but she had heard the rumours about her aunt - some say she went mad towards the end.

And her uncle Edmure would be coming with his Frey wife. All her mother had spoken about her brother was that he was a kind and good person. All Sansa knew of Frey's was that they murdered their kings and butchered innocent women and unarmed men.

 _I pray I don't act foolishly when I see her._ To think that a Frey was her aunt now... it made her feel sick. Uncle Edmure had bedded Roslin Frey as her mother and brother were killed. It wasn't their faults, Sansa tried to tell herself.

It was Tommen - who was now Hand of the King, a brilliant one - who remind Sansa that the Lord of the Iron Islands would be coming to Joffrey's nameday celebration. She hasn't seen Theon Greyjoy since the day King Robert went to Winterfell - that day felt like it was both yesterday and a thousand lifetimes ago - but she thought about him every single day.

How could she not? She saw Bran and Rickon in all of her children, in different ways, and she saw Robb in them and her mother in them. She longed for Winterfell every single day but she couldn't ever go, and if she did all it was was a broken castle.

It was her home. She grew up there and now it was nothing. All because of him. She had to be strong though, her skin had turned to steel during these long years, she had grown a thick skin. Her steel wouldn't crumble for Theon Greyjoy. Sansa wondered if she'd be so strong when she was faced with Theon.

* * *

"To be honest, Mother, I'd rather not be wed," Joanna told her, with a charming smile on her face. As she grew, Joanna began to look more and more like Cersei, her smile and laugh weren't like the Queen Mother's though, Joanna's were real and honest. Joanna was sixteen and a great beauty, she knew it herself and used it to her advantage. Her daughter was cunning.

They were sewing together, Sansa and Joanna, Jocelyn - who was only twelve and already seemed to know her place in this world, Sansa didn't know whether that was a good thing or not - and Valaena - Tywin's wife, who was born a Princess of Dorne and became a Crown Princess through marriage, she was also heavy with child and so she hardly did much sewing. Tommen's girl, Alana was there too - she had her mother's curls but they were in her fathers golden colours and her eyes were all Lannister, despite their colour, they were full of her mother's intelligence, her mother was here too. Still, Margaery was as beautiful as she was cunning, which was very. 

"Why is that?" Sansa asked with a smile, her daughter had been going on and on like this for some moons now, and the answer was always much the same:

"Because, I shan't ever be as big and heavy as Valaena!"

The other girls laughed at that, even Valaena, whose laugh was the loudest.

Sansa wondered if Joanna cared at all about being wed. She didn't seem overly excited nor at all nervous. Her betrothed was actually Uncle Edmure's son, Sansa's cousin, Harrold Tully - called Harry, apparently - but he was three years younger than Joanna, and if Sansa knew her daughter, which sometimes she felt she didn't, she would use their ages to her advantage. Joanna hadn't met Harry before, maybe when she met him she would feel something about him.

Alana Lannister - Tommen had taken the name Lannister when he became Lord of the Rock, as was expected -was twelve years old and betrothed to some Tarly boy. For her age, the girl was strong-willed and very clever. Her green eyes didn't miss much. "I can't wait to be wed, it'll be exciting won't it, Joanna?" Sansa didn't know what Margaery Tyrell - she would always be a Tyrell, no matter that she had been a Lannister just as long as Sansa had been a Baratheon - and her daughter's game was, but Joanna seemed to know how to play it.

"Yes, well I shall be Lady of the Trident, where my late grandfather fought bravely and won his war," there was pride in her daughter's voice. Sansa always thought that her daughter had a long term plan for everything, like she weighs the consequences of every action. "And where my uncle was briefly king, he was foolish but brave."

 _That stung_ , though Sansa believed her daughter was trying to soothe it by saying Robb was brave. _He was meant to save me, but he didn't_. How different would life have been if Robb came to rescue me?

Jocelyn, who couldn't play the game but was terribly kind, says, "We earn nothing by speaking ill of those long gone." Sansa could have kissed her daughter there and then.

"You are too right, sister, the day should rest in peace."

There was something about the looks her daughters shared, it haunted Sansa in ways she couldn't explain.

* * *

She was just leaving Tywin's room, where she had walked with Valaena to make sure she got there alright, she was called over by Margaery Tyrell. "Queen Sansa!"

"Lady Margaery," she says, with enough grace that it was polite but with less of the enthusiasm Margaery had used. "How are you on this day?"

"Quite well, your grace. Would you like to walk with me, through the gardens? The men are in their council chamber, debating over this and that, it hurts my head some." Margaery still managed to feign that innocence despite the fact she was older than Sansa herself.

Sansa tried not to snort. Politics hurting Margaery's head? That was a funny jape, but Sansa didn't laugh. "Of course, Lady Margaery."

The older woman took her arm and they began their walk, their guards paces behind. "Margaery, call me Margaery."

"You say that every time I see you," she pretends to smile. Honestly, she was tired of these silly game, of people trying to be kind to her just to further themselves. Surely they were all getting too old for it all?

"And yet you never listen, your grace. We are sisters, just." Margaery laughed softly at that. Inside all Sansa could hear was herself shouting that no, she already had a sister. _Arya was ten when I last saw her, and a better person than most I have known since then._

After they make speak of small matters, Margaery begins to explain why she was here. "You know that my cousin has been married and has birthed trueborn children, and that she shall be coming to court with her family, yes?"

"Yes," Sansa says, "Alla is wed to Edric Dayne, isn't she?" Sansa kept her voice nice and polite but the thought of Alla Tyrell hurt her in her chest, and the thought of her bastard...

Margaery nodded, "Yes, I'm told their marriage is a happy one, if not a marriage full of love - like our own parent's were, I'm sure." Why would you make me think of my parents? To hurt me, to make me cry? So I shall let down my walls and be an easy target? If that was the other woman's goal, she failed - thinking of Stark family only made Sansa's walls thicker and higher, her guard went up. "Lord Edric would allow her... natural born son to be taken to Starfall to be with his mother and half-siblings, of course, they shall always follow the King's word, and King Joffrey says that the child should stay in the Eyrie until he says otherwise."

Yes, Sansa had been in the room when he child's foster place had been decided. She had met with Lord Bronze Yohn herself, all those years ago, where they spoke of her father and the fact that the people of the Vale are still loyal to her family, they are more loyal to her than they ever will be to the king. Apparently, they believed that her father was a good and honourable man, and they backed him to the end, and afterwards. That gave Sansa so much hope and happiness.

They had also spoke of how Robert Flowers would be fostered in the Vale, the Eyrie to be specific, where Bronze Yohn was then acting as regent to her cousin, Robert, and even after that - and Aunt Lysa's death - he had been an advisor to Robert. He would foster the bastard, for all it was said that her cousin was doing it all.

When Margaery spoke no more, Sansa asked, "What are you asking, Lady Margaery?"

Sansa heard a sigh come from Margaery, before she spoke. "I'm asking for Alla, truly, but we wonder if perhaps Robert may go to Starfall... perhaps to stay? It seems unfair, that he should never be allowed to see his half-siblings because of his mother's silly mistake." When Sansa said nothing at that, Margaery said, "Like you got to grow up with your own bastard brother."

"Don't speak about Jon," Sansa tells her, her voice strong, her blood warm. _I am a wolf, I protect my own_ , is all she can think. Her outburst surprised Margaery as much as herself. "He is my brother. If you are truly loyal to me, as you so claim to be, you would do well to remember to never mention Jon's name in my presence, if you wish to have a pleasant time in my company. And don't compare him to your cousin's bastard, Jon is nothing like him. My brother is Lord Commander of the Nights Watch, the greatest and oldest institution in Westeros, he commands brave and powerful men and protects and comforts weaker boys, he is a great warrior who has songs written for his accomplishments. You're cousins bastard shall stay with my own cousin. Good day, Lady _Lannister_."

And Sansa is gone with her blood pumping hot, and hungry for blood, leaving Margaery _Lannister_ shocked and confused and Jaime Lannister, Sansa's guard for today, with a wicked grin on his face as he follows her inside.

* * *

The next day she goes to Margaery to apologise, without actually using the word, for her 'outburst' the day before.

When she finds Margaery, she is with Alana, reading some old looking book. "Your Grace, it is so nice to see you. I was just reading this story to Alana, this book has been passed down House Tyrell for hundreds of years, apparently, it's full of wonderful songs."

"How lovely," Sansa says, "at Winterfell my father would tell me stories, and are Nan too." They didn't need a book to remember the stories, went unsaid, though Sansa though it with silly pride. I truly am a Lannister, she thought bitterly.

"Some stories are just so good, I grew up on tales of knights and princess, I'm sure you heard tales of monsters though," Margaery japed, her voice light and curious.

"Yes," she answers, even though there wasn't really a question. "I grew up hearing about Wildlings and Skagosi and Others and the like. Scary stories, mostly."

Alana replied before her mother could, "I want to hear one!"

Her mother smiled and put a hand on her head, in an attempt to smooth the curls no doubt. "For another time, now you leave the Queen and I to talk, yes?"

The girl nodded, smiling to her mother and bowing to Sansa, "Your Grace," she murmured and left the room.

Margaery sat up from the sofa and got Sansa and herself some wine to drink. Before she could say anything, Sansa said, "I hope you do not judge me too harshly for what I said in the gardens yesterday, I don't know what came over me, truly. It is just that I have lost so much of my family, all I have is Jon, whom I haven't seen for what, eighteen years? I miss him every single day. I hear of him often, in songs and letters and gossip and he is more than some bastard, to me, he is my brother and my family and I am proud of him as I hope he is of me."

She managed to have some tears towards the end, tears seemed to be a sign of weakness and weakness of the enemy strengthen you. She would let Margaery feel strong, for now.

"You do not need to explain yourself, Your Grace, not to me or to anybody."

Sansa pretend to give Margaery a weak smile.

It wasn't long before Margaery began to hint at Robert Flowers and him going to his mother. "I have spoken to Tommen and my husband, the king, we have decided that your cousin's child shall be allowed to stay in the capital during the king's nameday, he may spend that time with his family is he wishes, or not, it is his choice. But after the celebration is over, he leaves for the Vale."

"You are too kind, your grace! Alla will be very pleased, as will her other children. The smallfolk whisper that you are some kind goddess, I believe they are quite right."

All Sansa could do was smile and pray she hadn't started another Blackfyre Rebellion.


	2. why are they so emerald?

Her Uncle is one of the first Lord Paramounts to arrive. It is Gerold who sees the banners that belonged to her brother first and he points to them and Sansa had smiled when she saw them, truly smiled. She wore her purple and gold gown and cloak that was mainly black but for the strips of gold up the side and down the bottom - during the week of celebration for the king's nameday, only the best clothes were to be worn by all, but Sansa felt that she should make a special effort for her uncle.

As Edmure isn't a royal or anything, the whole court doesn't come to greet him. The royal family does though, Sansa made sure her children would be there. Gerold fidgets only a little, which is better than what she expected. She notices that Joanna kept peeking looks over to the Tully men who were approaching, and when they were all getting off their horses. (Sansa also notices the ways that Tywin looks at Joanna.) No doubt she wants to see her betrothed, the man she would wed in many years time.

She saw her uncle's hair first, even redder than hers, with only a little grey. As soon as he saw her he ran over to her, his embrace was warm and Sansa remembered that her mother's hugs used to be as warm. And her uncle's smile was warmer still. "Sansa, gods, you're beautiful. How are you?"

"Well, Uncle Edmure, well," she says, guessing that calling him Lord Edmure would only earn her a 'call me uncle'.

He nods, Sansa notices that his eyes are as blue as her own and he had laughing lines around his mouth. "I present you my family, your grace." Sansa isn't sure if the title is for Joffrey or herself but her husband justs nods his head at it. "My wife, Lady Roslin Tully." Sansa saw that Roslin was small woman, but then she didn't seem much older than Sansa. She wasn't as ugly as Freys were said to be, Lady Roslin had a simpler beauty, that reminded Sansa of her old friend, Jeyne. Lady Roslin curtsied to Sansa and Joffrey, a shy smile on her lips.

"And my children; my eldest daughter, Melissa." the girl was a beauty, her hair red but not nearly so bright as her father's, and her eyes were a darker blue. She was tall like her father, and had a smile on her face, as though she was excited to meet Sansa. _She is my cousin, how odd does that sound?_

Melissa curtsied, "Your grace," she said to Sansa, then the same to Joffrey

"This is Celia," her second cousin had Edmure's smile, the one that could light up a winter. Sansa guessed that she was sixteen. Her hair was red like her sisters, her eyes were also her sister's shade but she seemed to be more at ease. She curtsied and greeted them like her sister had.

Much the same happened with the youngest girl, Bethany, who must have been fourteen but had an innocence about her which made her seem younger. Her hair was lighter but not brighter than her sisters' but she had the same face - all smiles, and all Tully.

When Harry was introduced, Sansa looked to see what Joanna thought of him but she couldn't read her daughter's face. Harry was thirteen and thankfully, wasn't the image of Robb, he looked more like her mother than her brother. Still, he was a handsome young lad, any girl would be lucky to have him. His eyes were an incredibly bright blue, shiny as a the crown she wore.

Harry kept looking at Joanna, bless him, and he looked more than a little nervous when he saw her. Her hair had been kept down, fanning around her shoulders, and the dress she wore was golden and white, it always managed to show her green her eyes were. She looked like a princess, a queen and Harry seemed to be terrified

Afterwards Joffrey introduced the royal family, and everyone was shown to their rooms. Sanaa saw that Joanna took Celia's arm, she wondered if they'd be friends or not, she hoped so. 

* * *

During the first joust of the week, Sansa called for Melissa and Celia to sit with her, Joanna, Jocelyn, and Valaena in the top booth. Joffrey and Tywin were riding today, so was her Uncle. She didn't when know he rode, but then she knew little about him, the only uncle she knew was Benjen and she didn't really know him at all, if she was truthful.

"Are there any men who wear your favors today, ladies?" She asks them, Jocelyn sitting on her knee to see better. She seemed to be looking for Gerold, who was squiring for Tywin. 

Valaena nods, smiling and holding her belly, "Tywin wears my favor at every tourney, this one is no exception. Lady Melissa, is there a man lucky enough to wear your silk around hime as he rides?"

"Alyn Blackwood, Lord Brynden's son and heir, and my betrothed," Melissa says, pride and happiness in her voice. 

"And you, Lady Celia? Is any man so lucky as to have your ribbon?" Valaena asks, the young girl smiles. "Oh, there is a man, may we know his name?"

 Celia just stared into the field, where the men were preparing, with a smile on her face.

Joanna saves her by saying, "Mayhaps some other time?" Celia only nods, smiling when Joanna winks at her. Sansa wonders who this man is, she knows that Celia isn't betrothed to anyone, but she lets it go. 

By the time the men are on the field, everyone is excited. Tywin goes through his challengers easily, Joffrey wasn't doing too bad considering he hadn't ridden a tourney in so long but her Uncle Edmure was doing less well. His daughters cheered for him though, so Sansa supposed it would be fine. 

Edmure was out within a few rounds but he had become a favourite of the smallfolk who were watching, they cheered every time he rode, shouting his name. It was Tywin that bested him and it was Tywin that helped him from the ground with an apologetic smile.

Tommen rides in the tourney, Sansa saw, his golden haired son. She just catches the way that Celia sits up when Loren Lannister begins to ride - so she gave her favourite to the heir of Casterly Rock and didn't tell anyone, Sansa wouldn't say anything, she just hoped they weren't foolish about their silly romance.

Halfway through the day, the people in the stands are allowed to eat, as are the men on the field. Sansa is speaking with Valaena - who seems to not like any of the food, her pregnancy is making her picky about her food - when she sees Margaery, who sits in another stand, stand up and smile. She looks over and sees Alla Tyrell and her husband, Edric Storm, and their children, two young boys and two even younger girls, all handsome like their father - all with purple eyes and pale hair - and then she sees him.

Robert Flowers looks completely like his mother, but for his eyes - it was like Sansa was looking into her children's eyes, or Joffrey's eyes. She shivers. He isn't nearly as tall as her children, like their father, and his hair wasn't even a little bit blonde, a dark brown like Alla's, it was straight and not curly at all. "Your Grace," Alla says, curtseying and her children follow suit.

Her husband bows, "Your Grace."

"Lord Edric, Lady Alla," Sansa says. "These are your children?"

"Yes," Edric answers, "this is my eldest son and heir, Allen. This is Martyn and these are my daughters, Sarella and Larra." Larra was just a babe in Edric's arms, Sansa remembered how Joffrey held Joanna like that, she remembered when her father held Rickon like that.

When Edric didn't continue, Alla tells her, "This is my son, Robert, your grace."

Suddenly, the boy is in front of her, his smile looking quite false and his eyes too bright, he bows and then stand and says, "Your Grace, it is a pleasure to be here on this day." The words seem practised and Sansa feels ill. She can feel herself going pale and warm at the same time. She cannot look away from the bastard, she remembers how scared she was for weeks after she heard about the boy, she remembers thinking that his existence alone could be the end of her and her children, of everything she had worked for. She feels so sick and she can taste it in her throat. _His eyes are too bright._

Sansa has never been more happy to have her daughter as she did when she hears Joanna say, "Mother, I almost forgot, we need to give Father his favour before he rides!"

Joanna comes and helps her up, trying to recover her dignity, Sansa tells them all, "Yes, how could we forget? I'm sorry Lord Edric, Lady Alla that I must cut this short - we shall speak later though, yes?"

Lord Edric doesn't hesitate before nodding, "Yes, your grace, we shall see you then."

Everyone makes way for the queen and princess as they walk past everyone and when they finally get to a quiet place Joanna puts a hand on her arm, "Mother, are you feeling alright?"

She doesn't speak for a moment. "Yes, I'm better now. Thank you."

"It's alright. What is it about him, Mother? The bastard, I mean."

She tries, in vain, to deny that she feels so ill at the thought of a bastard, "It's not about him-"

"It is, Mother, I'm not a fool. I can understand it mother, why do you not like him, what makes you fear him so?" Joanna asks, her hand not leaving or loosening it's grip.

Her daughter is so very smart she likely knows why already, but Sansa tells her, she tells her what she's been fearing all these years. "I don't want him to take your rights, or your brothers' or sister's rights."

She hears someone walking over, and is oddly relived that it is her son. Tywin looks at Joanna, as though looking for an answer, and Joanna must had given him an answer because Tywin looks back to Sansa. "Mother, are you well?"

"She fears for what Robert Flowers might do to our family," Joanna says quietly, looking to her brother. Tywin nods. Sansa cant help but notice how it seems like her children are having their own conversation without opening their mouths.

The grounds are busy now, Sansa knows that everyone is going back to their proper seats or speaking to the men who shall ride. She sees Robert Flowers with Margaery.

In a low whisper, Tywin tells them, "I worry about him too, sometimes."

"The Tyrells wish to take him with them, when the celebrations are over, I fear for what they might tell him, what they might make him believe," Sansa tells her children, surprised she could say it without slipping up, for she had been worrying about it for a while now.

"He already looks strange," her daughter says, "he seems cold and hateful, I think the Tyrells will help his hatefulness grow, I think they will put it in the direction of our house. We know what happened when Daemon Blackfyre was treated like that."

She agreed with her daughter on that, "Yes, and if we do nothing about this boy, I fear trouble will start."

"How can we stop it?" Tywin asks.

"I don't know," she says honestly, "but I worry that if nothing happens, Robert Flowers will be the death of us all."


	3. is it really just me now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a little longer than usual, there's more happening though. BTW, I watched The White Princess and I keep imagining Cersei as a more angry and bitter version of Elizabeth Woodville?
> 
> Also, can you tell I was feeling depressed when I wrote the last part?

Sansa eat with Joffrey and her children, and Valaena, Cersei too, it the last night of Joffrey’s nameday celebrations, that was why they were eating together. The beef was delicious, though Sansa noticed that Valaena was picking at hers. _The joys of pregnancy_ , she mused. She was sipping her wine when Joffrey began speaking to Joanna – Sansa noticed that she was always his favourite of his children, Tywin following closely.

When she remembered her own childhood, she couldn’t remember her mother or father being open about having a favoured child, though she was always sure that her father preferred Arya over her. Her father loved her so much, she knew that now, it still angered her that it had taken his head being taken off for her to realise that.

“What do you think of Harry Tully?” Joffrey asked her eldest daughter, while he gulped his wine and leant back in his chair.

Joanna cut her beef slowly then smiled at her father. “He is quite charming, father.”

“Do you think he’s a bit young?” He asked, an odd smile on his face.

“I’m sure we can work around that, as man and wife,” Joanna tells him, smirking.

“I don’t know much of being a wife, I’m afraid,” Joffrey japed, Sansa wondered why he was being so… cheery, was it because it was his nameday? “Are you nervous, Joanna?”

Her daughter smiled at that. “A little, father, but I’m sure that is to be expected.”

Joffrey nodded, as though he understood. You will never understand, she thought, almost spitefully. “Sansa, were you nervous when we first met?”

For just a second, Sansa wanted to say how she had been in love with him but she came to hate him and pray nightly for his death to be soon and painful and slow. But then she saw Steffon, Jocelyn and Gerold’s warm smiles, Tywin and Valaena’s kind but curious looks and Joanna’s tilt of her head, which meant she was interested. _They still have time to live in their songs, I won’t destroy it when their ballad hasn’t yet finished._

“Of course, Joff,” she knew he was in the type of mood where he liked to be called Joff, “but you were as valiant and kind as ever, I think I fell in love straight away.”

She knew that the younger children thought she was telling it all true, but Sansa knew that Tywin and Valaena had figured out much of the truth a while ago, and she never knew what Joanna knew.

“What of you, Valaena, were you scared to meet my son?”

Her goddaughter smiled, it always looked practised in front of the king – it was likely that only Sansa could see it though. “Not scared, goodfather, because I had heard of the songs of his kindness, and I knew no one who came from the queen and yourself could be anything but good. And he was."

Jocelyn smiled at her brother and his wife, like she thought them wonderful together. Sansa too hadn’t missed all the secret smiles and quiet laughs shared between the two, she had seen them both holding Valaena’s belly with looks of wonder on their face.

Sansa looked to her husband as he continued, “Mother, what did you think when you met before your wedding?”

“I thought he was the most bravest and handsome man I’d ever laid eyes upon, I was as nervous as any maiden would be, but I was more excited than anything. I pray you’re marriage shall be a happy one, Joanna,” Cersei says, obviously untruthful but Sansa had to respect that Cersei was still going on after all these years. One night, when Cersei hag gotten drunk, she had told Sansa that all that kept her going was spite and hate. Oddly, Sansa could understand it.

“Thank you, grandmother, your words mean much to me.” Sansa truly didn’t know if Joanna’s smile was false or not. 

* * *

While everyone prepared for the last day of the tourney, Sansa was walking around the grounds with Valaena and Gerold. It was then that she saw him. Her heart stopped and she clutched Valaena’s arm, the poor girl looked fearful but then she saw where Sansa was staring.

He was taller than he had been when she had last seen him but Sansa supposed that happened – people grew as time went on. His eyes were darker, no, duller, than ever. Like her, he freezes.

“Lord Theon,” Valaena curtsies – or tries to, with her belly. She nudges lightly at Gerold, who bows, his face screwed in determination to not fall, and Theon Greyjoy smiles a little at that, but it wasn’t the smile she once knew. Valaena walks closer to Sansa and whispers, “Do you wish for me to stay?”

Sansa shakes her head and in a flash, Valaena makes up some silly excuse and she and Gerold are gone. That leaves Sansa, just outside the godswood with him.

There is an uncomfortable silence between them. In a feeble attempt to make it less awkward, Theon says, “How are you, your grace?”

“Don’t bother, Theon. Don’t bother with your false courtesies and ‘how are you’s, there’s no point.”

His mouth opens and then he shuts it again, Sansa watches as he looks around, as though seeing if anyone was listening. “I am so sorry, Sansa, please listen, I am so, so sorry, I- “

“Don’t. Theon, don’t. Spare some of your dignity,” she tells him coldly.

He looks so hurt but she doesn’t regret her tone. “Sansa, I understand why you hate me, I do, please just understand that I regret it, I have never felt so awful before. Every night I think about Bran and Rickon and everyone else, I cry myself to sleep thinking of them.”

“Am I meant to feel sympathy for you?” She asks him, as icy as a true winter. “You betrayed us all, Bran and Rickon and Robb. I don’t care how much you wet your pillows!”

He attempts to grasp her hand but Sansa wrenches it away, still he tries to speak. “I had too. My father would disown me, get rid of me, my family would… I don’t know what they would do. I did it all because I had to get back to them. Please, Sansa, I hadn’t seen my father since I was nine, it felt like he was dead to me and my sister too, I wanted to be back with my family.”

She hated that she almost understood him. She wanted to know though, “Did you have to kill children to do that? To get back to your family?”

Theon had tears in his dull eyes when he said, “Yes. It was the only way.”

Sansa felt a throb in her heart at the realisation that she understood. She wanted nothing more than to get her father back, than to be with him again, even after almost twenty years. Still she had nightmares of his death, repeatedly, and still she prayed to the old gods that she would be allowed to go back to Winterfell, before King Robert arrived, still she was willing to give up everything in this life – her throne, her crown, her memories, her _children_ – to be back with her father.

How often had she vowed that if it took her killing thousands to get him back, she would kill them all herself? Too many times. She had practically grown up and grown old with Tommen and Myrcella, like Theon had with Bran and Rickon. It didn’t take her a moment to realise that she wouldn’t hesitate to kill Tommen and Myrcella to get back with her father.

_Everyone is a monster, I am too._

“I understand,” she said quietly. Theon heard though and in his eyes there was thanks. Even so, she prayed that the gods would kill him. _What have I become?_

* * *

 

Hardly a week after Joffrey’s nameday, Tommen called her to his solar. It was unusual that he did this, he hardly liked to command her around, so Sansa knew something must have happened, something bad. For a second she thought that maybe Theon had died, how awful would she feel, knowing that she had cursed him to die and he had? How terrible and lonely would she feel if that was it?

It turns out, she felt much worse when she found out what the news really was. It was brought by a raven from the North, Tommen was saying, softly and comfortingly, but Sansa couldn’t focus on that. Her head was swaying, she was swaying, the world was swaying. She felt that she would collapse and faint and die – _oh how she’d love to die right now._ Though, she didn’t think she had the energy to die.

She felt shattered and broken and weak. Sansa wondered if she would ever feel normal again. It was odd, because she half wondered why she felt so strongly but the other half of her _knew_ why. _Gods_ did she know why.

It took her what felt like days, it might have been, for all she knew, to finally leave Tommen’s room. She took off her crown, golden and red it was, and placed it on his desk. She didn't want to be a queen, not now. At his confused look, Sansa walked away, out of his room and down the halls of the Red Keep. She couldn’t see anything but what was straight ahead of her and so she must have bumped into a lot of people by the time she got outside. She was absentmindedly aware of guards coming after her, some shouting, but she couldn’t hear naught but the wind – which was funny, for there wasn’t even a breeze.

Her walk took her to the godswood, as empty as ever, when she walked in she heard someone – Tommen? – shout to the guards to leave her alone but she wasn’t sure of anything, really.

Before she knew it she was kneeling in front of the heart tree – a stupid little thing compared to the one she remembered at Winterfell – and suddenly she sobbed and sobbed and sobbed, she couldn't hold any of it back. Her golden gown was dirty but gods she didn’t care. Sansa curled into the dirt and the heart tree and wailed like a newborn babe. Her hair was dirty and her face was covered in snot and tears and it must have been night by then.

None of that mattered, though, not at all.

Sansa hadn’t ever felt so… not lonely, nor depressed… she hadn't ever felt so much. Not even when she watched her father die right in front of her, not even when she was told that Arya had died or when Bran and Rickon had been killed and that mother and Robb were gone. Even Joffrey’s kingsguards’ blades hadn’t made her feel so much – so much pain and loneliness and hurt. When she had laboured hard through five births and when she found out about Theon’s betrayal, she hadn’t felt this way.

Had she ever felt so alone? Never, not in her entire life. Would she ever feel so much pain again? Absolutely not, she could imagine.

By the time Tywin found her she must have been a mess but it didn’t matter! Her eldest children were hugging her, trying to pull her up, speaking to her – _shouting_ to her. And all the while she shouted and cried and cursed. But they’d never understand. It was only her left now, Sansa thought, only her alone now.

She was the last one left. No one else would know how happy she had once been, no one else could know how good her father was, no one else would truly know Robb or Arya or Bran or Rickon. No one else would remember how Winterfell once was, how happy it was once. No one would know how it used to be, how different things were – how good things were. No one.

No one would remember her father’s warmth, Robb’s smiles, Arya’s japes, Bran’s laughs, Rickon’s cuddles, Old Nan’s stories, Ser Rodrick’s feigned warnings, Jory’s teasing, Maester Luwin's teachings. It was like it was only her that seen it all, only her that had lived it all. It was like it was some other lifetime, some other world that only she had been a part of. And honestly, it might as well have been because it was just her who had lived to remember it all, only her. Only her, crying in the godswood.

_Now that Jon was gone, what else really mattered?_

 


	4. is everyone truly leaving me?

She wears black gowns for a week after Jon's death but that is all she allows herself. She has seen so much death and blood first hand, but just hearing about Jon made it hard for her to breath.

In all honesty, it wasn't just Jon she mourned and that made her feel guilty. She and Jon hadn't ever been close, she'd been to close to the mother for that but they did love one another, in an odd way. The lone wolf dies, but the pack survive her father had told her when she was very young. Not anymore, she was the lone wolf.

How ironic, for she had been the least wolfish of all her family, even Rickon who was just a babe when... everything happened. _Why do the gods keep me alive then?_ She wondered often, wondering if she had some special purpose perhaps? Her children were her only purpose and none of them looked like a Stark, at all.

(That made watching them grow easier, but harder too.)

Really, Sansa thinks that Jon was the most Stark of them all, for all his name was Snow. At the end, him and I weren't Starks; Snow and Baratheon we were. How she'd love to be a Snow. _No_ , she had to be strong now, for all she was sad and broken.

A small part of her did feel guilty that she mourned Winterfell as much as she did Jon. She wouldn't ever not miss it, it was likely she wouldn't go back even if Steffon was it's heir.

He'll only see a Winterfell that has been burnt to the ground, he won't see it as she did - bigger than the Red Keep with a happiness in the air, the scent of snow would hang outside and the fresh air was biting cold, but she wanted to go back there. Winterfell was and always will be so much more than a burnt castle.

Sansa would love to pray to a heart tree and walk through the crypts. But she couldn't. _Would the heart tree still be there?_ That was her father's favourite place.

The point is, she misses Jon and so she wears black for him, for her loss and for the things that she had longed for for years - home, family, Lady.

 _I wonder where Ghost is?_ The Stark inside her was still there, and that was all she needed to know.

* * *

She is walking through the gardens with Jocelyn, a moon after Jon's passing, (she never saw his body, she didn't want to, but the men of the Watch sent her their sorrows and said they too, grieve their Lord Commander. That made Sansa happy, to know that somebody loved Jon, he needed love) when her daughter asks her a question.

"Mother, do you love father?"

Sansa is surprised at the question but tries to stay casual about it. "Of course, darling, why would you ask?"

It takes Jocelyn a moment to answer. "I never see you smiling or laughing with each other like Tywin and Valaena."

"Oh, darling, I'm sure your brother loves Valaena very much, and your father and I used to be much like that but we've gotten old, yes?"

Jocelyn just giggles a little at that, at the comment of her parents old age. Sansa knows it's a lie, a large one, because not only does she despise Joffrey but she knows her parents still showed their love to one another when they were her age.

But she doesn't tell her daughter that and even if she enacted to, Jocelyn was asking about being with child. It made Sansa smile to see her daughter's innocence and naivety and wishes she could have grown up at Winterfell and not at court.

* * *

After she has settled Jocelyn into her bed, Sansa intends to go to her own chamber and read the letter, but she sees the golden hair of the Lannisters and knows there will be much to do before that.

It turns out, the person is a Lannister, but there hair is redder and overall, she is kinder.

Joy Hill puts a hand on Sansa's arm. "How are you?"

"Well," Sansa says because what else can she say? Not things Joy would want to hear.

"You aren't, but I hope you know you can come and talk to me - about anything." There's something in Joy's voice which makes her sound like Cersei almost. It's like she playing a game. The game of thrones, no doubt.

Sansa had tired of that game years ago and says, as gently as she can, "What is it, Joy?"

The younger girl leans closer, to whisper in her ear, even though no one else is in the hallway. "I can deal with Robert Flowers, I know people."

Gods, everyone played this damned game. "Really? What will you do, Joy? Kill him? Make him 'dissappear', like Lord Baelish is so fond of doing to people?"

"No," Joy tells her calmly, "but I can speak to him..." emotionally manipulate him, she means, "from one nobleborn bastard to another, eh?"

"I'm not your mother, do as you please but if it goes wrong, whatever you plan to do, don't you dare bring me into the mess."

Joy is all smiles as she promises, "Of course, your grace. A family protects one another."

And she leaves Sansa alone in the hall, wondering what the hell Joy Hill would do.

* * *

That night she dreamt of her father, who looked as old as he would if he still lived. That reminded Sansa how terribly short his life was, it's always the good ones who go to soon, always.

He had a beard and his hair was grey and his clothes were too, the colours of the Starks. Her father was reading a book and smiling at her. His smile was so warm, his eyes too. Sansa saw her mother, her smile as kind as ever, and her eyes were shiny. The last time Sansa had seen her, she had been crying over Bran.

Her brothers were there too, in whichever room of Winterfell they were in, and they looked twenty years older than they last were - the ages they should be now. Robb's hair had gone darker yet not lost it's shine, even with the hint of grey. He wore no crown and looked happy about it.

Bran was taller than her and walking, laughing at something Robb said - Sansa couldn't hear any of it, she was too busy watching them, - Bran's eyes were darker than she remembered, Sansa got the sudden feeling that he had seen things, things he shouldn't have seen.

Her baby brother was there too, but a babe no longer. His hair was darker, more black than auburn, and longer than the others', his eyes were also dark. Sansa remembered that they died in a fire, of course they had seen bad things, but that seemed false, or like it never happened.

Jon was there, as handsome as Sansa thought he'd be, he wore black clothes and a smile - they had always been rare on his face, but he suited them well. But it was her sister that shocked her the most.

Arya was beautiful, really, in a wild and free way. Her eyes were dark, too, but she had a smile on her face and it was directed at Sansa, as though they were one another's greatest friend.

 _They are all dead_ , Sansa remembered it all, they haven't all been together for so long, and they never would be again. Despite knowing the truth, to Sansa, it felt like Ned Stark and his wife and children had all died a thousand lifetimes ago.

Too soon, she woke up alone, in King's Landing where her father died, her pillow wet with tears. _I want to go home,_ the thought came more strongly than ever before.

* * *

Celia Tully arrives at court, to be a companion to Joanna alone save for a few Tully guards. Sansa wishes that her uncle could have came, but no matter, he is a busy man. She kisses Celia's cheeks and hugs her tight and welcomes her cousin to the capital.

It takes her hardly a day to notice, but Joanna was talking to her cousin - Tommen's son, Loren - more often than ever. But then, he was often at the Rock learning to be its future lord. Sansa wasn't sure what was going on, and so she let it happen.

Though, she does see Celia talking with him once, both blushing a little. _Ah_ , Sansa thinks, _that's what it is_. She doesn't tell anyone, why would she? She finds it quite nice, actually.

* * *

When Cersei visits her solar, Sansa wonders what happened to make Cersei drop her wine and walk around the keep - something big, it must be, for her to leave without a drop of wine, knowing Sansa had none.

Sansa tells her to sit and she does, making herself comfortable, like she owns it all. "What is it?" Sansa asks, not bothering to play games. She and Cersei had gotten over that years ago.

"Sansa," Cersei says, sounding overly sad and dramatic. "I speak to you about this for you are the only one I trust."

Sansa raises a brow and Cersei explains, "Trust perhaps isn't the right word, it's more, I don't wish to kill you as I do with most everyone else, and we have things in common, you know."

She knew, Cersei told her lists if their similarities, usually when drunk, and most didn't make sense but not much did these days. "I do, Cersei, now tell me what you're here for? What do you trust me so with, that you couldn't go to your children for?"

"Well, I couldn't tell Joff or Myrcella or Tommen because they'd just fret and worry and besides, my boys are busy and Myrcella is in Dorne, I can't exactly tell them."

She was getting impatient now, _could Cersei not just say it?_ Sansa thought they were passed silly games. "Cersei, tell me, and be quick about it."

The queen mother sigh dramatically, "I fear I'm not long for this world."

"What?"

"You heard me, I dying, I'll be gone soon. It's for the best, I'm sure, the gods'll want me gone before I destroy something like I want to do. It's spite that's kept me going, little dove, and I fear I've ran out. What are you when you've lost the thing that made you you?"

It's a rhetorical question but Sansa remembers the day she lost who she was. _Eighteen years ago, when Joffrey threw down my maiden cloak. That's when I lost me._

"You're really dying?" Sansa asked, trying not to sound too pleased.

"You'll be happy, at least. I truly don't care if I'm honest, this world tires me but in the rare chance that there is some next bloody life I'm sure it'll be just as bad."

"How much time do you have?" She asks, with less joy than before, for reasons she doesn't really know.

Cersei yawned, as though she really didn't care about it. "One moon, one and a half at most. I intend to drink an ocean of wine in that time and try to repent my sins, I've got a few."

"Will you tell Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen?"

The older woman shrugged her shoulders, "I suppose I'll have to, and I'll have to say goodbye to my grandchildren." Cersei was quiet for a small moment, before saying, "you must think I'm awful, and I am, I know that but I don't want to go to a hell and I don't want to leave my children."

She wishes Cersei would just leave and drink some bloody wine so she can have peace and quiet. "Go speak to your children then, or your granchildren."

"I told you, I'm not going to worry them until the end. I can almost taste it, Sansa, the peace that comes next. This life has been so terribly boring and sad and hateful, mayhaps in some next life I'll be happier. Maybe not.

"But I've been waiting for whatever comes next for a long while, I'm sure you have too. Logically speaking, I'm losing in our race of life for I'm to die first, but I'm going to be free before you, Sansa, what about that?"

"You are right, Cersei. You'll win, even in death, you'll win."

"No need to be so angry, that's my job," Cersei laugh at her own stupid jape. "Really though, I know you want to leave this world. I have since before you were even conceived," the word choice seemed odd to Sansa, but then so was Cersei. "I'll win this bloody race."

"I'm very happy for you, Cersei, I'll be cheering you on at the finish line."

Cersei just puts a soft hand on Sansa's cheek and smiles, sad and happy at once. "Good, little dove."

When Cersei leaves her, all Sansa can think is, everyone's dying, even bloody Cersei. She sort of thought Cersei would just live on, out of spite and hatred and all of that. She wasn't dead yet though, but now she had said she was due to be soon, Sansa could see that she looked paler than usual.

_I'm going to be so very alone by the end of this life._


	5. i used to quite like you, what was I thinking?

Margaery was smiling at her in her odd way she did, like she knew all of Sansa's secrets. _I was fooled by that smile, once._

They were sewing together, a small group of ladies; Sansa, Joanna, Margaery, Elinor Tyrell - or Florent now? Sansa wasn't sure, - Joy and Celia Tully who had recently joined court. Had there ever been a sewing session more awkward?

The whole time, Joy kept passing Sansa secretive looks like they both knew something no one else did. All Sansa could do was give her a confused look and sigh - and pray she didn't kill the bastard.

Margaery and Elinor kept dropping hints about him too, of allowing him at court or at Starfall with his mother. "The king and I have discussed this situation, ladies, as I tell you often, and we are still thinking about it."

"But perhaps Robert will like you better if he can be at court to see you, your grace." Elinor looks like she has just let a big secret slip and Margaeey only just covers up her annoyance.

"Are you saying, Lady Elinor, that I have wronged the boy, for him not to like me?" Of course she hadn't and she knew Elinor knew that but Sansa wanted her to know her place. She sounded like Cersei, gods help her.

"Of course not, your grace, no. It's just that, well, we, um, we-"

"What my cousin is trying to say is that we believe that Robert will be a happier child if he grew up here at court, with me and other people he knows, or at Starfall with his family, Sansa," Margaery says, looking perfect and proud of herself.

Oh _how_ Sansa used to admire the way she held herself but now it only annoyed her, how smart Margaery thought herself to be, how much better than everyone else. _I am a queen, not you._

She hadn't addressed Sansa properly and that made her more annoyed than she thought it would. _I've worked hard to keep this title and all that comes with it, don't forget it._ "It's 'your grace'."

Margaery looks confused at that, but it's only for a second because her smile is back. "What do you mean, Sansa?"

She truly thinks herself superior to all, doesn't she? And to think, she once thought Margaery was better than Arya. _Arya is worth thousands of you._

"You call me Sansa like I am your dearest friend and while I do enjoy your company, Lady Margaery, I'd prefer for you to a dress me properly. You're to call me 'your grace', incase you weren't sure."

"Yes, your grace." Margaery went back to her sewing, Sansa saw Joy smirking at her and Joanna looking oddly proud. Sansa was oddly proud of herself. Was she becoming more Stark with wild blood, like her father once said her aunt and uncle had, or was she becoming more like a cruel Lannister?

_What had she become?_

* * *

Valaena goes into labour during the night and Sansa is there when she births two children, twins, a boy and a girl. They both have emerald eyes but there mother's dark hair, they both look perfect. Sansa leaves when Tywin comes in to see his wife, but before that she holds her unnamed granddaughter.

At first she tries to see any hint of a Stark in her but there is none, but then she feels guilty and hands her to her mother, gently of course.

When she leaves the room to go to the hall, Joanna comes up to her, in her nightclothes, asking to see the babes. Sansa tells her that she can go and see them once Tywin and Valaena are alright with it. Her daughter pouts, but only for a second, and then acts the proper princess and sits down, dutifully.

Minutes later, Steffon comes over, his curly hair a mess from sleep, asking the same as his twin, Sansa tells him the same and goes to get Joffrey. The king would want to see his grandchildren, surely. Valaena had asked that she writes to her mother, telling her the news, and Sansa would do just that after she saw Joffrey.

Ser Jaime was guarding Joffrey's door and he looked sleepy and confused and raised an eyebrow in question when he saw Sansa standing beside him in the middle of the night. "Princess Valaena has just given birth, to twins, a boy and girl," she explains.

He nods, "Wonderful. Have they got names yet?"

"Not yet, ser."

Ser Jaime just nods again, "Are you well?"

Sansa looks up at him, confused, "Yes, ser, why wouldn't I be?"

"No reason," he says with a shrug, "I'm bored is all, I've got no one to talk to you see. I've a very lonely life."

Sansa smiled at that. _What age was he?_ He had to be in his early fifties by now, he still looked handsome and his wit had stayed with him. Whenever she thought good things about him, she remembered how much her father hated him.

 _He's still a Kingslayer, no matter how charming_. Ser Jaime was kind to her though, or rather, he wasn't unkind.

"I'm sure you do," she replied. Jaime laughed, it was as bright as ever, his eyes always twinkled when he laughed.

"Yes, well, I'm an old man now. Would you like me to wake the king?"

"Please, ser."

Ser Jaime went into Joffrey's room and knocked on his chamber door. A groan came from the room and she heard the knight laugh again. Moments later Joffrey was coming out in his nightclothes, wearing a scarlet robe too.

"Joffrey," she greeted quietly. Her husband nodded and muttered a good morning, sounding annoyed, and asked why he was up so early. "Princess Valaena has just had a book and a girl."

"Twins?" Joffrey asks through a yawn.

"When two children are born at the same time," Jaime tells him, "they tend to be twins."

Joffrey scowled at his uncle - _father_ \- but Ser Jaime just laughed - laughing seemed to take years off his face.

"Shut up, uncle. Sansa, show me my grandchildren."

* * *

 Sansa sits on her chair beside the throne as Joffrey makes the announcement of his grandchildren's births for all the court to hear. The bells had rung all late last night and early this morning. Sansa remembered her father saying that the bells had rung for her when she was born.

She saw Cersei, looking paler than she had the other day, looking at Tywin. Sansa couldn't read her expression. _Is she mad? Why would she be mad? Cersei usually looked mad though, or just annoyed._

Later, when everyone was leaving, Cersei walked over to Tywin, placing a hand on his arm. Sansa heard Cersei say, "Show me my great-grandchildren, will you? I'd love to see them soon."

"Of course, Grandmother, the maester is going to tell me when Valaena is ready and make sure the babes are well, then you can meet them."

"Good, good. Have they got names yet?" Cersei asks, sounding interested, _mayhaps she really was?_

"Not yet no, we want to spend some time alone with them, without maesters and nurses and everything before we name them," Tywin says to her, smiling. Sansa can see how similar their smiles are, can see how similar their eyes are - bright and green.

A hand was on her arm and Sansa spun around to see Myrcella, as golden and perfect as ever. They share a quick hug. "Sansa, how are you?"

"Very well, and you?"

Myrcella smiles, "I'm well too. I hear I have some new family members, do you know when I'll be able to meet them?"

"Tonight, most likely," Sansa says, "they're still being checked over by the maester, as is Valaena. I think Joanna and the others are going to see them this afternoon, but they should be alright tonight."

"Wonderful! How are your children doing?" She asked as they walked away from the hall, to the gardens, as they always did when they could spend time together.

Sansa watched as Joanna and Celia walked off in another direction. "They're all well. Joanna met Harry some moons ago, I don't think she was completely in love with him but she seems to like him well enough. She spent most of the time with Celia, she is now as well."

"She's Lord Edmure's second girl, isn't she?" Myrcella asks as they get outside.

"Yes she is, and her hair's as red as Edmure's," Sansa said with a smile, "Harry's is too, and Edmure's other children," Myrcella laughed. "And my other children are well, Tywin's been stressing for a while, and Gerold is going to be fostered in Storm's End next year. And you?"

"Well, Daemon is also going to be fostered, in Hellholt soon, - what kind of a name is _that_? - Quentyn thinks he should get to know Dorne while his cousins are busy in Sunspear being heirs and such. Dyanna is fine, she wants to see the Rock one day."

Sansa smiles, "So does Jocelyn. Is Quentyn well?"

"Yes," Myrcella said and Sansa could see that she was content with her marriage to Quentyn, they might not be in love, but Sansa thought that they were lucky to be happy. "He is. Now, show me the summer flowers, the ones in Dorne are so different."

"Alright," Sansa smiles and they begin to walk to the said flowers.


	6. the gold dims after a while, doesn't it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #Lannistercentric

If she really tired, Sansa could remember when she thought Cersei was perfect, the most wonderful women in the wide world. She isn't, she learnt that years and years ago but Cersei was still alive and was there in a way that even her mother wasn't.

(That's not to say that Sansa didn't and doesn't despise Cersei, she did and she does, but Cersei told her the truth, however cruelly, and her mother hadn't.

Catelyn Stark had dressed up the truth, particularly when it was hard or harsh, in pretty gowns and painted their faces and styled their hair and suddenly you couldn't tell it was the truth - Cersei Lannister, always Lannister, would strip the truth down to it''s nakedness for all to see.)

Cersei told her that she wouldn't ever love Joffrey and she told her that she would love her children, she told her she would do things for children that could get her killed and gods, was it true.

Sansa's mother had said that one day she would love her children more than anything, Cersei told her she would be willing to hate everything and everyone that weren't her children.

That doesn't mean Sansa loves Cersei or wishes Cersei was her mother, no. It's just, Cersei was always there. _Always_. Through the hard times, and the very few better times, she was always there giving... advise, twisted and bad though it was.

All of this means that Sansa holds Cersei in a higher regard than she did Lord Tywin or ever will Joffrey. There aren't truly words for what Sansa really thinks of Cersei - on one hand, she thinks that Cersei deserves to die the most horrible death possible, not only because she practically killed Sansa's father but because she has done so many more awful things.

But on the other hand, Cersei _understands_ , understands in a way Myrcella or Tommen never will, or her children own never will, in ways her parents wouldn't understand nor any of her siblings.

This is why she feels almost upset when the maester says that Cersei has only a week left to live. Joffrey had raged of course, Myrcella and Tommy had been upset, as had all of Cersei's grandchildren (and her greatchildren were too small to care, really).

She didn't know why, but Sansa spent a lot of time with her goodmother in that week. Cersei was oft on milk of the poppy and didn't really know what she was saying, or she was drinking some strong wine and really knew what she was saying, despite how slurred her words came out.

Sansa was there when Cersei died, with Ser Jaime. She had died a week after her due date - she still thrived and lived on, even when it wasn't possible. Cersei had been speaking about one thing or the one - something about her childhood at Casterly Rock, it didn't seem to matter - and then her wine cup dropped from her hand and spilled the red carpet.

Ser Jaime rushed over and held his twin's hand, Sansa held the other, for no reason other than she didn't know what else to do. Cersei wouldn't want her hands to be held while she died, she wouldn't want people tearing up like Ser Jaime looked close to - and yet Sansa held her hand.

The queen mother didn't say anything but the look on her face said everything - not happy exactly, but proud, proud to have gotten this far. _I have expect beaten you all,_ she seemed to be saying, _I win!_

As the brightness of her emerald eyes left said eyes, Sansa wasn't sure how to feel. There was no blood, no screams, no cries and yet seeing the light go from someone's eyes like that, it broke your heart. Cersei would want that. Cersei's face was wearing her proud smirk, even into death. _How very fitting._

Sansa looked over and saw that Ser Jaime's eyes had lost their brightness too, he looked so sad and empty and lonely. Suddenly, he truly looked his fifty-two years.

"I'll go get the maester," Sansa said but he wasn't listening.

* * *

 Joffrey rages, hitting things, his golden crown falls off his head and Sansa watches it roll. Ser Jaime stands at the door, silent but Sansa has learnt to read expressions, she knows Ser Jaime is dying on the inside. When they find out, Myrcella and Tommen are silent - but again, Sansa knows how awful they really feel.

A week after Cersei's death - that will never not seem strange to Sansa, she was still sure Cersei would just coke back to life and live on and on and on - Sansa suggests they start arranging her funeral. Joffrey just stares and not for the first time, Sansa wonders if he truly feels as bad as he makes out. _At least he gets to mourn freely, I didn't._

It is decided that Cersei's funeral will take place at Casterly Rock. Sansa doesn't go, she stays with Valaena to look after the twins - Doran and Sansa, they were named. (Her granddaughter was named for her! She hadnt felt so happy in a long time.) She had heard many times of how wonderful the Rock is and found she'd rather not see it. All of her children went with their father, aunt, uncle and great-uncle and numerous others who apparently adored Cersei.

 _None of you knew her_ , Sansa thought and was starteld to find she was trying to defend Cersei, even when the woman was gone. They spoke of how beautiful and kind and smart the beautiful Lady and Queen Cersei was, how she was a daughter worthy of Lord Tywin, but Sansa knew that Cersei would want to be remembered as the woman who was so great her father was nothing but that.

Cersei wanted Lord Tywin to not be remembered as a war hero and a warrior, a great commander - and a monster - but be remembered as only her father. But no, she would remembered as someone she was not. Sansa actually felt bad.

* * *

 There was a small rebellion from a group of people who were once from the Brotherhood Without Banners, now they were just men with a vengeance and a dislike for Lannisters. Joffrey and his party met them on the road and from the Rock to King's Landing. Sansa didn't know all of the details but she heard that men were fighting and some were dying.

People say that Ser Jaime wished to stop living then, that he went into the fight not planning to come out; he _meant_ to die. Whatever happened, though, the only thing any were sure of was that Jaime Lannister died exactly one moon after his twin.


	7. which was easier, daughters or death?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #weddingssarefun

Five years after Cersei died, Joanna is wed. On the morning of her wedding, Sansa is there watching the maids help her daughter into her golden dress and doing her golden hair.

Sansa is beyond happy that Joanna will never have to worry like she did on this day. Yes, she'll have the regular worries but she won't have to think about the fact that the man that is giving her away helped murder her brother and mother and Joanna won't be marrying a man who made her look at her father's head on a spike.

And Sansa thanks the gods for that every single day. Years ago, she swore to herself that her children wouldn't suffer like Lady Catelyn's did, she had kept to her vow. _Does that make me a knight?_  She smiled at the silly thought. She was truer than most, if she was a knight. So few keep their vows these days. Now wasn't the time to think of all of the lies though and so she watched her daughter get put into her wedding dress.

She looked so beautiful. Joanna was completely and utterly a Lannister, without a trace of Stark - or Tully nor Baratheon - in her. Her golden hair shone and it was done up in an almost Northern looking style - simple, braided, not too tied up. By the end of today, Joanna wouldn't technically be a princess, but Sansa knew that her eldest daughter would be a princess no matter her station in any life.

She'd be Lady of Riverrun, just like Sansa's mother once was, and her grandmother before that.

Harry Tully was a handsome man, with an innocent look to him that gave his already young face am even more youthful appearence. He was off with his father or something, getting ready no doubt.

All too soon, Joffrey came, wearing the gold and black of House Baratheon. He had a beard now, small compared to the ones Sansa could vaguely remember her father's lords wearing, but a beard none the less. He wore his crown too, it sat perfectly on his head. Joffrey was two years off of forty and truly looked it - he was still as handsome as bloody ever, but you could just tell that he was an older man now.

"Are you ready, Joanna?"

"Almost, Father," her daughter said. Sansa wished her daughter luck and nodded to her husband before leaving the room to get a carriage to the sept. She would be sharing one with Jocelyn, and Celia and Bethany Tully, all of whom were already there.

"Is Joanna well?" Jocelyn asked.

"Yes, darling, she's just finishing off, I think."

When they reached the sept Sansa couldn't help but remember how she walked up the steps so many years ago - was it really twenty-three years now? - and found herself wondering what it would have been like if she ran away before they could make her marry Joffrey.

('They' being Lord Tywin and Cersei and countless other scheming lords, they were all gone now. Sansa realised now that they were the bad ones, for all it was Joffrey that gave her her scars, they were using Joffrey just as much as they were using her.

 _We were puppets and they were the ones who got to pull the strings._ )

Sansa stood at the front of the sept, beside Tywin and Valaena, and Doran and Sansa. They were tall, for five, and as wonderful as ever. Doran, who was only fidgeting a little, had Tywin's eyes and his mother's curly and dark hair, where Sansa's - who they called San, to avoid confusion - got lighter each day, but still curly.

* * *

Not long after she got there, Joffrey was walking Joanna down the sept. Songs would be written for this day, no doubt, and even Sansa could see how picturesque the scene was; King Joffrey, with his golden outfit, was walking his beautiful daughter down the bright and colourful sept. For a moment, she was ten again, and thinking the world was a song. Not for long though. _That was a child's fancy, and false._

When Joffrey took off Joanna's maidencloak - it was black and yellow though she had no Baratheon blood - he didn't throw it down like he did Sansa's. And when Harry set a red and blue cloak on Joanna shoulders she was declared a Tully in front of the Seven. (Not the old gods, it seemed that only Sansa prayed to them these days.)

* * *

The feast was wonderful and there was no lack of singing and dancing. Sansa danced some, with Joffrey and sometimes Tommen or her Uncle Edmure. Once, she danced with Theon - which had been very awkward indeed.

Next she had danced with a man named Olyvar Frey. He looked little like a Frey in truth, more like Lady Roslin, his sister. Olyvar was Edmure's good-brother. One of many, considering the fact that the Late Walder didn't lack for children. Sansa knew that Olyvar was once Robb's squire and had been banned from the... Red Wedding, is what they're calling it, because of his loyalty to Robb.

In an attempt to not be rude, Sansa made polite conversation with him. As soon as he saw that she wanted to speak with him, he apologised for everything that had ever happened to her family, saying how awful he felt, still. All she could think was, _there are so few good ones left, and those who are good think they are bad._ Olyvar spoke of Robb and how he was loved, how she was still loved.

(Apparently, the Northerns haven't forgotten her.)

But she was a queen and couldn't lose herself in memories of her brother and fantasies of how he could have saved her, instead she curtseid to the knight and moved to her next partner. It was best not to think of Robb - thinking of Robb made her remember that when he could have been saving her, and Arya, he was getting off with some girl from the West.

She ached for Arya now as she once had Robb and she couldn't explain it at all. Her sister was dead, Sansa had believed that for decades, because what else would Arya be but gone? Arya was like the wind though, she could leave instantly and come back just as quickly - except she hasn't came back, not for twenty-three years. __

* * *

When the bedding was called for, Sansa didn't run off with the rest, she stayed in her seat and watched as others kept dancing. Jocelyn danced and danced, with everyone, even little Doran, though he had been out to bed with his sister a while ago. She was spinning with Bethany Tully, both giggling, when the partners changed.

Sansa watched her daughter smile as she spun. The smile was off her face when she her partner though. Robert bloody Flowers. _Who let him here?_

Her daughter wasn't rude and so she took the bastard's hand and danced with him. Robert Flowers looked more like Alla than ever, almost like what Ser Loras used to look like, if Sansa remembered well. But his eyes, they were an impossibly bright green that made a shiver run up Sansa's spine. She had heard that he was just as power hungry and as ambitious as his damned mother.

She would make sure he was away from court very soon, lest he be whispering things in her daughter's ear. At eight and ten, Jocelyn was mad to be loved and truly wanted to be kissed by some handsome knight, Sansa prayed the bastard wouldn't use that against her daughter.

Joanna wouldn't have been fooled by anything like that, especially not a bastard. Sansa knew her mother would be proud at the way Joanna stared at Robert Flowers as though he was far beneath her, like she was better than him. Sansa was happy she didn't _love_ her half and bastard brother but it almost unnerved her, the way Joanna could be so like her Father sometimes - the way they seemed to think themselves superior to everyone else.

Who was she to judge? Sansa had treated Jon like he was nothing to her. _How I wish I could take that back._ By the end of it all, he was the only one left but her. They had been the least "Stark" of her Father's children. It was almost humours - she had the Stark name but lacked the looks, Jon had the looks but needed the name. Now, Sansa knew that she was a Stark always was and always will be, and so was he.

Her children were too, even if none of them looked even a little like her father, or Jon, or Arya. Thinking of the past hurt though, so Sansa pretend to smiled as her cousin - she was Joanna's age, actually - Celia skipped around the hall with Loren Lannister, dancing to some song. Yes, she could smile at these moments. (Even if the scene reminded her of herself and Joffrey, from years ago.)


	8. who would wage a war against us?

Sansa knew she'd have to see Theon again one day, she just didn't really want to. At all. But their children were betrothed - her Steffon and a daughter of his, Alanna, who was supposedly a sweet but stubborn young woman - and so seeing him again was inevitable.

She could understand Theon's actions, even if it made her sick to admit it, but that doesn't mean she has to like him or want to be in his presence. When she sees him arrive at court, a pretty daughter in tow, she stands a little straighter and adjusts her crown slightly. She doesn't truly know why.

* * *

Sansa is trying to avoid Theon and his pretty daughter - who Steffon seems to adore already, _he gets attached too easily_ \- and also spend time with her grandchildren for a while, so she doesn't like it when there is a knock on her door. She prays it isn't anyone here to bother her, yet that's all that seems to happen these days - bother.

It turns out it is Gerold. Her youngest child and he was probably the tallest of them all, or just behind Tywin. "Mother, may I come in?"

"Of course, Gerold," she says, smiling at Doran and San's excitement at seeing their uncle. Just for a quick second, she's back at Winterfell, she must be six, in that, and she and Robb are running to a visiting Uncle Benjen. She was quite fond of that memory, even if it stung.

Gerold smiles and sits down at the table, opposite her, next to San. She and Doran were practising writing numbers. Sansa was happy it wad only writing them, she was truly awful with numbers, even now.

"Oh, I love writing, do you?" Gerold asked the children. Sansa could see how similar they all looked but she couldn't help but see her sister in Gerold's smile, so easy and so genuine.

"Yes, I do," Sansa said and smiled when Doran scrunched his face up.

"I don't!" He said and dramatically pushed his paper away from him, feigning annoyance. Sansa smiled at his childish behaviour, which was meant with a sigh and an eye roll from San.

Gerold just sighed, smiling still, and blew some hair away from his face. These were the moments she lived for now, times with her family. _'Family, Duty, Honour'_ were once her mother's words. _We must protect our own_ , her father had said to her once, _for winter is always coming. I'm trying._

* * *

 

Quite suddenly, while Theon and his family are still visiting, there is a rebellion from the Ironborn, apparently they think Theon too weak to rule them and so they've decided that they won't be ruled at all.

 _Fools_ , Sansa thinks, _fool, fools, fools._ _We'll never get what we want, none of us do. Not from your Drowned God or my Old Gods or the Seven Gods._

The armies are being prepared, even Joffrey is going to Pyke to fight for his crown. Sansa is there when he tells the court that, perhaps he thinks that men will want to fight, knowing their king will be fighting by their side, with them - quite like King Robert did on Pyke, decades ago, Sansa was what, two then? - but not much of a reaction comes from his announcement.

A genuine reaction, that is, many cheer and clap, but it's all a farce. Are they trying to win Joffrey's support? To curry his favour? It'll not work, they should know that by now.

Most of the court looked tired though. They had heard of Joffrey's promises and claims and they had battled with him and for him, maybe they had even had hope for him, once. But their hope had died long ago. Sansa wondered when, with Ser Jaime? Lord Tyrion? Lord Tywin? King Robert? Her hope had died alongside her Father.

\--

As the soldiers begin riding off to battle, Joffrey comes over to her. "My lady, wish me luck, pray for me."

"Of course," Sansa says and feels like a girl again, pretending to hope Joffrey lived through the Battle of the Blackwater. _How different would things be if Stannis had found me?_ It did no use to wonder about things that were now impossible though. "The Ironborn are fools to think to challenge your reign, or Lord Theon's."

"I know, I know. No one thought to challenge my father's reign, but then people say he wasn't a good king, but I am," Joffrey said, looking like a cheerful little boy who just got congratulated on swinging his first sword or eating his vegetables.

 _You are still so naive, even after everything._ Sansa felt like saying that the only reason people say King Robert was a bad ruler was because they wish to curry favour with Joffrey. Robert, for all his flaws, was a better king than Joffrey ever would be.

Instead, Sansa tells him, "They will pay for their foolishness soon enough. Justice will always be served, after all."

"Yes," her husband says, "I'll be going now. I'll take care of Gerold, he'll be a good squire. We will defeat them, those Ironborn. Look after my girls, I'll look after your sons. I shall return a victor," he said, awkwardly.

Sansa can't help but thinking this is a goodbye. _Obviously not, the awful ones always live._

\---

Joy comes to her as she watches the last of the men ride off, their armour bright red for all their king is supposedly a Baratheon. Sansa could guess why she was here - Robert Flowers had just come into the yard just before Tommen had left with his men, the bastard was showing off his armour and speaking as though he was trying to imitate Joffrey.

 _Gods_ , was all Sansa could think, _does he belive people were fight for him? Does he think people care anymore? The people are done fighting; the women are done losing their husbands and sons to wars they didn't want to fight in and the men are done with dying for causes they don't believe in._

The bastard had the nerve to come up to her as well. He bowed, low, and called her Your Grace but Sansa couldn't help but feel like she was being mocked.

"Robert Flowers," she had emphasised the surname, "what brings you here today?"

"Ser Robert," he'd corrected, his bright eyes looking deep into her soul, "and I've come to fight for my father and king." His smirk had annoyed her more than she'd like to admit.

Sansa had raised her head, showing that he was beneath her. "Your king, then your father, you mean. King Joffrey, my husband, is your king before anything else."

"Of course, Your Grace," Ser Flowers had smirked. _And my mother thought Jon was bad!_

But Joy was here now and smiling at Sansa with a smile that made Sansa think of Cersei. "My mother and her family were from Braavos. It's said they were friends with the Faceless Men. What I'm trying to say, Sansa, is that I can help you be rid of the boy, if you wish."

Sansa looked at Joy, in disbelief mostly, but also thanks. _What age was Robert Flowers? Seventeen at most? His mother was sending off to war, by doing that she was almost asking for his death_. And Sansa would love nothing more than to have the bastard gone, but she had enough death in her mind and blood on her hands.

(Still she blamed herself for her father's death, even if she only a pawn then. _It's my fault, if only I wasn't so whiny and stupid_ , she would think. Those days were long gone though, now she knew that she couldn't be weak.)

And, despite everything, she was the daughter of Eddard Stark. _It's wrong to kill so dishonourably._ The gods should decide when we die, not some men who can change their faces.


	9. do you know that there once was a lion?

The men came riding back moons later, banners of yellow and black held high in the air. Where she watches from her chamber window, Sansa can make out Baratheon sigils, along with Lannisters, Tyrells, Martells and Freys, and countless others, but it's hard to tell - all of the colours looked like a large mixture of paint from afar.

There's no Northern houses but the Boltons. Their sigil was a flayed man and that said it all really.

Sansa gets up and it takes all of her strength not to rush down to see her sons. She meets her daughters and Valaena there, with Doran and San. Sansa smiles when she sees them all looking out a window too, waiting for their father and respective husbands.

The first man she greets is Tommen, who looks handsome as ever in his golden armour - _so like Ser Jaime_. His armour is speckled with blood, somehow it makes Tommen look like more of a warrior. He jumps off his horse and first hugs Margaery, who Sansa didn't even see, and Alla, who stands behind her cousin. Sansa is too happy to be annoyed.

Loren follows shortly after his father, with a bright scar across his cheek which Margaery smiles sadly at and touches it as though she is a maester inspecting it. _Mothers_ , Sansa thinks and looks at her own children - neither of her daughters had scars, fortunately. Sansa watches as Loren greets his father and mother and then Alla. He and Alla speak for a moment, before Alla bursts into tears and falls to the floor.

Sansa knows why, she can guess why. There's only one reason why a person - a woman - a mother - would break open like that, without a care for anything else in the world:

 _Robert Flowers didn't survive this war_. As she watches Alla clutching her heart she cannot help but feel bad, more than bad, and is that makes her weak then that's too bad. _No mother should lose her son._

* * *

 

Apparently there's been some trouble down the road in the city, so the other half of the army hasn't arrived yet. Sansa is sitting with Valaena, Joanna and Jocelyn and squires have been coming up, bringing news. Joanna had just gotten back from getting one more when she looks sadly at Sansa, her face pale.

"There's been news, Mother. Steffon is fine, not hurt at all. He's showing some of the city children how to speak Valyrian," Sansa smiles at that, at her kind hearted son (soft hearted, Joffrey had sneered once, when he bothered enough to care), her daughter continues, "Gerold hurt his ankle, they thought is was broken but it's just sprained and like to heal shortly, he'll be fine.

"My husband is well, apparently, has a few cuts but that's expected. Prince Tyrstane is well, Valaena, and Prince Quentyn and his sons."

Valaena looks happier at that, it seems like a weight has been taken from her shoulders. "Thank you, Joanna."

Joanna just smiles and turns to Sansa, face suddenly pale and sad. "Mother," Joanna tells her, Sansa notices how bright her eyes are, like shiny emeralds. They were always like that when Joanna was feeling emotional. "Gods, Mother, he was killed... he was..."

For a moment, a short one, Sansa thinks her daughter is speaking of Joffrey. She's not sure how to feel, if Joffrey died. Her daughter continues, voice a little shaky, "It's Tywin, Mother. Tywin's dead. Gods, gods, Mother." For once it seems as though her daughter's at a loss for words. Sansa doesn't speak because what could she ever say? What could she say? What could she _feel_?

It wasn't like when her father had died, when she had screamed and beg and had terrible nightmares that haunted her still. It wasn't like when she was told of Robb's death, when she had felt as though the small flicker of hope left in her had been burnt away.

It wasn't like when she was told of Jon's death, when she had felt like her life had been a lie and all the good was gone. It wasn't even like when she watched Cersei die, when she had felt so terribly alone, like everyone was finally gone.

 _(No_ , now she felt nothing and somehow feeling nothing was so much worse than feeling everything.) 

"Tywin has died?" Valaena asks, voice breaking between badly hidden sobs.

Joanna says, "Yes" to clarify. "I'm so sorry Valaena, Mother."

Sansa doesn't know what to say but saying nothing would seen rude and weak and so she says, "Valaena, I'm sorry. Your children..."

"I shall take care of them, they shall remember how good a man their father was, I will make is so." Sansa knew that Valaena was holding back tears, Sansa knew it from experience.

"Good, good. I'll go and meet Joffrey, and my sons." Sansa walks away because what else can she do? _Nothing_ , it feels, because every step she takes tires her until she falls against a wall and then drops to the ground. _Nothing, nothing, nothing._

She doesn't know how long she sits there, not crying exactly but feeling pain, when she hears footsteps and sees someone's shadow stop before her. Sansa guesses it's Joanna or Jocelyn, even Valaena and when soft hands pull her up she is sure it's her gooddaughter.

One look into the woman's eyes tells her that no, this isn't Valaena. It's Alla Tyrell who is holding her up and Sansa can see the pain in her eyes too. As they face one another they can forget about everything, all of the plots and the lies and the games - and the fact that Alla and Margaery were almost certainly trying to steal her own son's rights.

Right now, they were two grieving mothers.

"I suppose sorry doesn't truly make up for what I've done?" Alla asks, still holding one of Sansa's hands.

"Now isn't the time to apologise, Alla, not now, not when you've just lost your son." _All those times I promised I'd make her pay, make her be sorry and she tries to say it now of all times!_ Sansa suspected Alla wasn't even purposely trying to make her feel bad.

Alla just smiled sadly. "I'm sorry for your loss, and all the grief I've caused you,"

"Unless you were the one to kill my son then you've caused me no grief," Sansa tells her, sliding back down the wall, not really knowing why.

Alla follows after and sits beside her. "Yes, but I can't imagine how it must have been for you... and Margaery is quite a force when she wants to be."

 _She is a force, I am a queen, and you shouldn't fear her, no one should_ , but saying that to Alla seems wrong, and so Sansa decides to spare her feelings, "Margaery is passionate," she says, knowing that Alla loves her cousin well enough, "and determined, I suppose she likes to reach her goals, whatever they might be. She is ambitious, yes, but in a good way -"

"Spare your false compliments. Margaery is a _bitch_ who is always out for herself and if not she's always doing something that will help her in the end. She is selfish and cruel and has used Robert all his bloody life. She was the one who told me to call him bloody Robert in the first place!"

It seemed as though this had been building up inside Alla for years and so Sansa just let her spill it out. _You're still so niave, to think you can trust anyone anymore - even your family._

When she was done ranting, Sansa said, "You shouldn't have let her use that like you. That's what people like her do, you know? They think they're strong and they use people they believe to be weak against themselves for their own gain," she was speaking about Joffrey, and Lord Tywin and Cersei and everyone else in the bloody kingdom.

"I always have to be the weak one," Alla said and sounded like a huffy child. It amused Sansa, oddly enough.

"You forget, the so called weak ones always win and defeat the ones who call themselves strong."

Alla snorted, sounding rather unladylike. "Yeah right. The bad ones always win, that's just the way it works."

For a second, the spite came through; _clearly not, your son died, he was as bad as you say Margaery is._ But then she remembered, _g_ _ods, he was hardly more than a child._ "Have you ever heard of the story of the lizard and the lion?"

"No," Alla says, turning to face her, a smile back on her face.

"Well, our Nan used to tell us about it, when we were young, it's a good story;

"Once, years and years ago, long before the First Men even thought to come West, when the children and animals ruled the earth, and both could talk, there was a lizard and a lion...

"and they decided to have race, the lion wanted to show how brave and strong he was, and the lizard wanted to race to show that lizards too were brave and strong...

"in the end, the lion was so caught up in sowing everyone how brave and strong he was, or thought he was, that he didn't even see the lizard run by and winning the race. Do you get it?" Sansa asked when Alla didn't speak.

She didn't speak straight away. "You're calling me a lizard?" She laughed and Sansa too laughed because she somehow just knew that Alla got the message of the story.

Just for a little while, she could laugh, later she would grieve and cry for her son, but for now she was a girl again, laughing with a friend.

(Even if Arya or Jeyne were worth thousands of Alla Tyrell, who in turn was worth millions of Margaery Lannisters.)

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope to do something else with the lion and lizard story - I think, in my not so humble opinion, it has potential :)
> 
> Also, it's the beginning of the end :|
> 
> PS, can you tell how much I *love* Margaery?


	10. do i finally get to rest?

_[Ten Years Later]_

Sansa was watching the ships come in, bringing food and wine, with Gerold. It was a beautiful day, the sun was high in the sky with hardly a cloud in sight. They were talking about her nameday feast, it had happened a week ago and the smallfolk were only now getting the extra or spare food - even then Sansa had to argue for it.

They loved her though, the smallfolk. _I promised they'd love me._

"Mother, what's it like to be fifty-and-one?" He asked, smiling Tywin's smile. Oddly enough, it still hurt to be reminded of her firstborn even after all these years. _At least my mother never had to feel this_. It still hurt to think of Lady Catelyn, and Lord Eddard, and her siblings.

"Stop with that cheek," Sansa said back, smiling though. "And it's odd. I feel old."

"It shows," he said sarcastically and then laughed at his own joke and smiled at her. "I lie, Mother, you look at the most, twenty, not at all like you're in your fifties."

Whenever Gerold smiled his scar seemed to move. He'd gotten it a decade ago and still it looked fresh, but it also looks like it has been there for a while, it's a true scar. Scars are odd, Sansa knew, she knew it every time she touched her on back, where Joffrey's 'brave' knights hit her with their swords.

Gerold was in the Kingsguard and far better than anyone else in Joffrey's - though Sansa might be a little biased in that opinion. He always looked so like Ser Jaime with his golden curls and snow coloured cloak. Not at all like Joffrey though, but Sansa didn't mind that.

They had just began talking about Joanna's little boy, Hoster, who was to be Gerold's squire, when a servant came rushing in. "Your grace, your grace, you must come with me, quick!"

"What is it?" Sansa asked urgently, trying to remember the girls name. "Mercy, tell me what wrong!"

"It's the king, your grace, you must come quick!"

Sansa looked back at Gerold once more before rushing out of the room, following the serving girl.

* * *

 

Joffrey is lying in his bed when Sansa gets to his chamber. He looks like he's in pain, and Sansa wonders what happened.

As though he read her mind, Joffrey says, "I'm dying, got too ill suddenly and the maester says I'm dying. Soon, I'll be gone."

Joffrey had been growing ill slowly over the last few years but Sansa didn't think he'd die, not every really. "How soon?" she asks.

"Hours. If I don't rest, minutes."

"Shall I get our children?" Sansa asks, not knowing what else to say.

Her husband just shakes his head, "No, no. I need to speak to you. Tell the servants to bugger off!" He asks, voice growing weaker, face going paler.

"Please leave the king and I alone," Sansa tells everyone else, even those tending to Joffrey. "Now."

As the last of them scatters away, Joffrey coughs. "Will you forgive me?"

"For what?" Sansa asks, even though she blames everything on Joffrey - and his family.

"You know," he says casually, "killing your father and all that?"

"You didn't kill my father," Sansa says hotly, standing up from where she sat on the edge of the bed, "you were too weak and you are too weak to kill a man yourself."

"Really? I'm too weak?"

"Yes, only weak men order others to do their killing for them, if you were half the man my father was, you'd have swung Ice yourself."

Joffrey just looks at her and she can't help but think he looks like a boy again, mayhaps it's the sneer. "Oh, I do apologise, in the next life I'll make sure to kill the traitor myself."

"You shan't be allowed into the next life, not a heaven anyway," Sansa tells him.

"Oh, really? Of all seven I shan't get into one?"

Sansa shook her head, "No, you shall not, instead you'll go to the deepest of the hells. Perhaps you shall see your moher and father there? I'm not sure which father though, you've got more than one."

Joffrey glares at her but it looks like he's ran out of energy, out of hate. He doesn't have it in him to hit her across the face and scream at her anymore. "You'll see your brother there then? I'm unsure which one though, all of them are dead."

She shakes and has to close her fists to stop from punching him. She was asking for it, she knows, but Joffrey knows how much it hurts her.

"So you're really going to let me die like this, fighting and arguing with my wife?"

"I suppose so, or if you want I could hurry up the process of dying?" Sansa asks sweetly.

"Shut it. Now, what dutiful wife would let her husband die in spite?" Joffrey says to her.

 _One who has got the blood of wolves in her, or the one who has suffered at your cruel hand for years and years_. Instead she says, "The one you've got."

It's hardly five minutes later that Joffrey dies, the brightness of his eyes are gone, his hand limp and his face pale and Sansa, gods she might be awful, but she can't help but smile.

That smile turns to a grin then a laugh and soon she's falling onto the floor, laughing, laughing, laughing because finally she's free from his clutches, from his hate, from his wrath. His body has hardly lost its warmth and she is celebrating. She feels wonderful because after far too many years, she's _free_.

* * *

 

About a year later, once Doran has been crowned King Doran Baratheon, the First of His Name, and Joffrey has long been dead, Sansa starts to feel pains in her chest.

These aren't the same pains she felt when her family had been killed off one by one, leaving her alone, and it wasn't like when she found Cersei was dying and dead. No, these aches and pains are physical rather than mental. She knows she dying, she just knows it, no matter how much her children protest against it.

In truth, she's been ready to die for some time now, she's been ready to let go of everything and find some peace. As she lays in her bed, for what she can only guess is one of the last times, she wonders what the old gods have for heavens. It's true, she might feast with the Father in his shiny halls but she'd much rather go to the old gods and hope they welcome her into the next life was open arms and a friendly smile.

Not even a week after she thinks that, there's a giant snowstorm outside, one unlike any other seen in a long time. _It's like the gods know, they know I'm coming home_. The servants put extra blankets and covers around her, to keep her warm, but Sansa find the heat insufferable and wishes to be outside.

 _I want to die in a snowstorm, with snowflakes on my tongue and in my hair._ She didn't want to die and an overheated bed with far too many covers. _Starks aren't afraid of the cold._

She knows when she's about to die. It's just after Joanna and Jocleyn come to see her and had kissed her on the head - kissing me goodbye, truly.

The storm brings wind that rattles at her shutters and windows and it brings snow that bars the door that leads outside. If she could, Sansa would go and open it and let the cold take her. Instead, she takes off all of her covers until she's only got a thin grey one left. Sansa closes her eyes and thinks about everything.

Her father, her mother, Robb and Bran, Rickon and Arya. Her brother Jon and friend Jeyne. King Robert and his brothers, one older and grumpy, the other younger and cheerful but more of a coward. She thinks of Cersei and Ser Jaime, Lord Tywin and Tyrion. Varys, Lord Jon, Lord Baelish. Her Uncle Benjen and Uncle Edmure and the aunts and uncles and grandparents she'd never know. 

She thinks of Tywin with his charming smile and Valaena with her loveable nature; of Joanna with her secret smiles and of little Hoster with his mother's smirk; of Jocelyn with her kind personality. She thinks of Steffon, who had always always been too sweet for the world he was born into, and of Gerold who always did his duty - her parents would have loved him. She'd miss them all.

Sansa can't forget about Myrcella and Tommen who helped her survive her first few years in the damned capital after it all went wrong. They have always been too decent and too nice and too _good_ for this world and yet they've kept going on, stronger everyday. Her husband, who was the opposite of everything her father had promised her.

And Lady. She thinks of Lady, who was her sweet wolf who never got her chance to show her true steel and sharp teeth.

Sansa think of the old gods and Winterfell's heart tree and the winter winds that threaten to break down her door. _I'm coming home,_ she thinks _, wherever home is now_. Her death is sweet and easy and she wonders if anyone had been happier to have such a weight lifted from the shoulders - the weight of living, that is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's it! This series has been such a blast to write, honestly! I've fell more in love with Sansa than ever before and have to come to look at Cersei in a different light, a better light. I hope you've enjoyed reading this as much as I've loved writing it.
> 
> This might be the end for this series, I'm not sure! If you've got any ideas for 'spin offs' then definitely comment them! Speaking of, I'd like to thank everyone who has commented on this work and really kept me going. I'd particularly like to give Tommyginger and Anna a shout out for their support!! :)


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